


Take Your Time (Do it Right)

by totilott



Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [31]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Flying, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Target Practice, basically figuring out how superhero equipment works okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totilott/pseuds/totilott
Summary: It's not easy teaching old dogs new tricks.
Relationships: Michael Carter/Ted Kord
Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1282328
Comments: 11
Kudos: 42





	Take Your Time (Do it Right)

There’s the dry click of the trigger and the blinding flash of white light. The little red LED-display flickers for a moment before showing the number: _75._

Another flash. _78._

Another. _67._

Ted glances quickly from the electronic target to Booster, who exhales through clenched teeth, his nose wrinkled in frustration. Booster's fingers twitch slightly as he adjusts his hold on the polymer grip, Ted's blue gun looking so fascinatingly foreign in his hands. Then Booster exhales again, raises his arms, and looks down the sight just like Ted's taught him. Presses the trigger. A flash.

_70._

“Jesus Christ!” Booster hisses as he slumps out of his stance and turns to Ted. “This is impossible! Your, your --” He gestures emphatically at the target hanging on the wall of the workshop, the photosensitive receptor, the LED-screen, the hanging wires. _“Target thing_ doesn’t work.”

Ted leans back in his trusty oil-stained swivel chair which has seen better days, leans an elbow on the workbench, and tries to offer an encouraging smile. “No way, I finished it last night and tested it this morning. It works.”

Booster pulls his fingers through his hair, sighing. His cowl and goggles dangle behind him on his back. “It doesn’t! I’m doing everything right!”

Ted chews his lip for a moment. “You want some help?” he asks, softly enough he hopes Booster understands he's not trying to rub anything in. They've been at this for hours.

Booster hesitates, pouting. “Please.”

Ted jumps from his seat, passing in front of one of the two big spotlights he’s set up in his workshop to make the sudden flashes of lights less disorienting. His gigantic shadow glides over the wall, his workbench, the smooth hull of the Bug parked next to them. “Wide stance,” he reminds him, nudging one of Booster’s feet with his own, pushing it further back. Then his fingers hook lightly under Booster’s arms, pushing them up. “Grip with both hands, firm. Lock your elbows.”

“I am. I have been.” 

“You can lower your head a bit, you know, if that makes it easier to aim.”

 _“Nothing_ is making it easier to aim,” Booster tells him pointedly. His temple is wet with perspiration from the heat of the spotlights.

“And then you squeeze the trigger. Just squeeze, don't pull.”

“What? Ted --” Booster sighs, lowering his arms again. “Those words mean the same thing.”

“I just mean you pull it slowly. Evenly.”

Ted gently prods and moves Booster's arms and torso again until he's coaxed him back into an adequately stable firing stance. The silence feels charged, none of them needing to speak, and Booster's gaze doesn't move from the black circle of the photoreceptive bullseye. Finally Ted takes a step back as Booster holds the position as well as he can, arms trembling slightly with the effort of keeping them still. Then Booster exhales and squeezes the trigger.

Bright flash.

_82._

“That’s the best one yet!” Ted volunteers, hearing how apologetic his cheeriness is starting to sound. He's never _tutored_ anyone before. Not in this kind of stuff, at least. It's hardly comparable to the extra points he got at university teaching entry-level physics to bored teenagers.

“It's literally impossible,” Booster protests, dropping his hands. “No way. No way does that thing go to a hundred.”

“It does. A perfect shot is a hundred points.”

“Tell me what wasn’t perfect with that last one!” There's a petulant whine to Booster's voice. The target is exactly 10 feet ahead, and they both know with his wrist blasters Booster could _easily_ hit bullseye at triple, quadruple this distance. That's probably why Booster is getting so fed up.

“It just takes practice,” Ted tells him softly, allowing himself to trail a gentle hand down Booster’s arm. He can feel the subtle heat of his skin through the smooth fabric of Booster's costume, even feel the slight dampness from his sweat in the hot workshop. Ted's choice to wear a T-shirt wasn't a bad call at all.

“I don’t even know what part I’m practicing anymore,” Booster mutters, dejected. “Like, _everything_ is in line. Everything is dead center and I still don’t hit.”

“Look, it’s just that you -- “ Ted begins, then stops himself, clearing his throat.

Booster frowns at him. “What?”

“Nothing, you're getting better.”

 _“What?”_ Booster demands.

“It’s just that you flinch. A little bit.” Ted smiles and pats his shoulder encouragingly. “For a microsecond. I know, it’s hard not to do it. That’s why you just need to practice and get used to--”

“I don’t flinch!” Booster protests, offering some kind of scoffing grin. “Why should I flinch? There isn’t even any noise.”

“You do! Right before the flash.” Ted gestures at the gun dangling from Booster’s hand. “It’s a natural reaction, Boos. On your end the lumen levels aren’t high enough to damage your retinas, but it is uncomfortable.” He shrugs. “You know what's coming when you press the trigger and your body wants to prepare so you... flinch.”

“I _don’t_ flinch, it’s just that this is, it's --" Booster gestures at his feet. "It's impossible to hit it when I’m standing like this. You never shoot like this!" He waggles his head, making an unfairly nasal approximation of Ted's voice: _"Come on, both hands, elbows locked, feet apart_ \-- When have you ever flashed anyone standing like this?”

 _“Flashed anyone,”_ Ted titters. “I'd never do that, I'd get arrested.”

“I’m just saying you’re making this harder for me than it needs to be,” Booster complains, tilting his head back and looking up at the dark roof of the workshop with a sigh. “You never pose like this in a fight, you just draw your gun and shoot from the hip. You’ve got your whole Jim Wayne thing.”

“John Wayne,” Ted corrects him gently. “And yeah, okay, Boos. I don't always get into a perfect stance. But I'm used to this gun!" Ted who designed it, built it, refined it, tested it for months before he finally dared to don conspicuous blue spandex and take to the streets. It's been with him since the early days. "I just want you to learn to brace properly if we ever, you know, get to the point where you need to use it.”

“What is there to brace against?” Booster asks incredulously, looking at him. “It’s _light,_ not a bazooka.”

“No, look -- Here’s how I see it,” Ted begins confidentially, wrapping an arm around Booster’s shoulders, gesturing with his other hand at the workshop. “Imagine you’re here visiting me, the rest of the League are off... _somewhere,_ wherever. And you’re not in costume.”

"Why?" Booster looks at him suspiciously, hints of a smirk on his face. "Did you take it off me? What are we up to in this scenario?"

"No, like, you're --" Ted giggles. "You're dressed, you just don't have your stuff."

Booster perks up at this break from target practice. "Okay, so I'm stuffless, and the League is away." He ponders the floor, separating them from the rest of the Embassy. "Did _they_ take it? Am I gonna get it back?" 

“It's at your place, you're just not--” Ted makes a noise. "You're here in civvies, okay? In this extremely vivid scenario I'm painting here."

“I just like to keep tabs on my equipment,” Booster tells him brightly. "I haven't got any spares like you do."

“For God’s sake, Boos,” Ted breathes, still grinning. “In this scenario you just aren’t in costume, and you don’t have your equipment, and you don't _care._ Can I just follow my chain of thought to the end here, please?”

“Wait, let me imagine it.” Booster closes his eyes, theatrically leaning his head back. “So I'm here, with you, I don't have my costume, I don't have my stuff.” He opens one eye, squinting at Ted. “So what am I wearing?”

“It doesn't matter!” Ted sputters, trying not to laugh. “A sequined ball gown for all I know! Point is, I’ve got my stuff here, and you don’t.”

“Okay, sure. Then what?”

“We’re... Uh, beset by enemies. Okay?” Ted pauses, waiting for Booster to comment on this plot twist, but Booster smiles innocently at him. “And they, like -- they knock me out. Or, I don’t know, they --”

“What enemies are those specifically?”

“I don’t _know!”_ Ted giggles, grabbing Booster by the shoulders. “Bad ones! Supervillains or space monsters or -- Whatever!”

Booster laughs, and despite Ted's mounting frustration the sound makes something warm and joyful cascade inside him. It's still his favorite thing, making Booster laugh.

Finally Booster nods at him. “Okay. Bad ones. Bad enemies. Okay.”

“So they knock me out or kidnap me or something --”

 _“Kidnap_ you?” Booster frowns at him with mock concern. “What are the space monster planning to do to you? Do _they_ have my stuff?”

“I’m going to kill you, you know that?” Ted tells him as affectionately as he can. _“Point is_ \--” He takes a deep breath. “Point is I’m not capable of using my equipment. And you don’t have yours. All you have is --”

“My lightning-fast reflexes,” Booster volunteers, drawing up to his full height.

“Sure. Also --”

“My indomitable physical strength. My amazing flexibility. My, um --” Booster is quickly losing momentum. “Excellent sense of smell.”

Ted looks at him for a moment. “Okay,” he continues. “Also you have my gun.”

Booster visibly deflates, glancing down at the gun in his hand. “Oh, _lucky...!_ ”

Ted continues. “My gun’s on the floor and you have a quarter of a second to grab it before they get you. So you dive in --”

“Those peerless reflexes I mentioned,” Booster tells him quickly.

“You dive in,” Ted repeats, gesturing at an area of the floor where this could all possibly take place. “You grab the gun, aim it, pull the trigger --” He mimes pointing the gun at an an invisible assailant. “And you have no idea if it’s set to flash or concussive blast.”

Booster snorts, lifting the gun to inspect the handle, trying to find the switch. He can’t.

“So if it’s set to concussive blast and you haven’t braced..." Ted looks at him and shrugs. "After all of that, all you’ve managed to do is badly sprain your wrist.”

“A puff of air is gonna sprain my wrist?” Booster smirks, wrapping his free arm around Ted’s waist, pulling him close and nuzzling his neck. “I’m not made of tissue paper, you know.”

Ted titters softly, looking up at him. “Well, it packs a punch, alright? We’ll get to the concussive blast too. I just figured you ought to...” Ted pauses, regarding the target display still showing _82._ “Master the flash first.”

Booster’s affectionate, mischievous energy melts right off him, and he sighs. “Okay, so that's the plan? You want me to score a hundred on that thing before we graduate from light flash to puff of air?”

Ted shrugs. “That was the idea.”

“You saw it, I can’t. It’s impossible. However you made that thing --” Booster gestures miserably at the target. “I bet you only programmed it to go up to 85 or something, as a prank." He makes a face. "Well, _haha._ Got me good.”

“This isn't a gag." Like he'd spend all evening down here sweating in the spotlights just for the world's slowest unfolding prank. His pranks are _a lot_ funnier than that. "We had a deal, didn't we? We're gonna teach each other this stuff in case of emergencies. Space monsters and all." The line does not elicit a smile from Booster like he'd hoped. "I didn’t sit up all night cobbling that target together to trick you, Boos."

Booster hesitates, something softening in his face. “Okay, so... Maybe not as a prank, but it -- it could be glitched, you know? A loose wire or something.”

“It’s not _glitched”,_ Ted snaps back, a flash of indignant heat in his chest. Then he realizes he's acting more hurt at the notion that something he built might have a design flaw he hasn't noticed, than getting accused of tormenting Booster for fun. “I tested it just before you came. I got a hundred.”

Booster squints at him. “No way. Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not, because it’s impossible!”

“It’s not impossible!”

“So show me then!” Booster tries thrusting the hefty blue gun into Ted’s hands, but Ted flinches back like Booster is trying to hand him an especially hairy tarantula. Booster clicks his tongue. “Just show me! Show me how you get a hundred shooting at that thing.”

Ted stutters for a moment, stepping back. “I, I -- Booster. No! I won’t!”

Booster grimaces at him. “No, you prove it to me! Prove to me that it works. Either you aren't that good of a shot either, or that fucking target doesn't work.”

It’s a low blow, and they both know it. Ted who’s designed and built all his equipment himself, testing and retesting, troubleshooting every minor niggle until his inventions are field ready. The world’s only expert on the inventions of Ted Kord.

Ted chews his lip angrily, wanting to point out how there’s no counting the number of times he's has gotten himself or Booster -- or himself _and_ Booster-- out of a hairy situation with a well-timed blinding flash of light or a disorienting burst of air. Non-lethal, simple, debilitating but only for a moment. It's fucking _elegant,_ is what it is. And he _is_ that good of a shot.

He takes another second, breathing in, calming down, before he meets Booster's gaze with a little less evident frustration. "I'm not gonna do that."

There’s a touch of bitter triumph in Booster’s grin. “Uh huh. Why not?”

“Because --” Ted hesitates, then sighs. “Because you’re the one who’s meant to be practicing, not me.”

No, teaching disinterested teenagers entry-level physics was definitely easier. That was a trip to Disney World in comparison to this.

“Oh, sure!” Booster throws out his arms dramatically. “Got me there, Beetle! No other reason why you can’t do _one lousy shot_ to shut me up!”

“For fuck's sake, Booster!" Ted snaps back at him, his calm already gone. "I don’t know what kind mood you’re in today --” With a snort he finally accepts the gun from Booster. “But it’s not very cute.”

“I’ll be cute after you show me,” Booster mutters, stepping back, gesturing theatrically at the target.

Ted exhales through his nose, giving Booster a final, exhausted look, then finds his position, just like he’s been showing Booster. Two-handed grip, locked elbows, wide stance with one foot slightly in front of the other. Fair enough, it's not often he has the time or opportunity to get into a perfect stance like that when out in the field, and it feels a little awkward checking his shoulders, his core, his feet. But goddammit, he knows his fundamentals, he's got the experience.

There's the flash.

They both look expectantly at the little flickering electronic display.

_97._

Ted can tell Booster is about to comment, so Ted raises the gun once more, viper quick. Another flash.

There’s a metallic fanfare, a small burst of silver confetti. The electronic letters blink a proud _100_ in several colors, before a scrolling line of text reads _BOOSTER GOLD - THE FASTEST GUN IN THE WEST._

“Oh.” It comes out more like a squeak. Booster stands frozen, looking wide-eyed at the confetti fluttering to the ground.

Ted admires his craftsmanship for a moment before he turns and makes his way back to the workbench, tossing the gun on top of a pile of blueprints. He drops down into the chair, his back to Booster, and starts tidying up his tools and screws and bits of wire and other things he used to cobble together the target late last night.

_For fuck's sake._

“I’m so sorry,” Booster murmurs softly, stepping up behind him. “Ted. How could I know you’d --” He stutters, then stops when Ted sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Ted makes a face, glancing over at the small pile of star-shaped confetti on the floor. Then he turns back, neatly rolling up the cable of his soldering iron. “You can start anytime, you know.”

Booster pauses. “Start what?”

“Being cute, like you said you would.”

“God, Teddy,” Booster murmurs, his smile audible, and next thing Ted feels strong arms wind around him from behind. Ted can't help but smile when he feels Booster nuzzle his face into Ted’s newly cut hair, the sensation just a little bit more thrilling without his thick mop of curls as a buffer between them.

Apparently noticing the same thing, Booster murmurs, "Why'd you have to go so short? I mean you're rocking it, but..."

"Just give me a month," Ted tells him softly, putting away a screwdriver. "It grows so fast I don't have the budget to keep it short. I just need to go get properly sheared once in a while." 

Booster snorts. “I really am sorry,” he murmurs against Ted’s ear. “I'm tired, I lost my temper." He swallows, hugging Ted tighter. "I guess I’m just... No good at being bad at things.”

Ted chuckles soundlessly, more motion against Booster’s chest than something audible. “While I excel at failure, obviously.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” Booster frowns, resting his chin on Ted’s shoulder. “It’s just -- I either have a knack for things or I don’t, and I never seem to get good at the stuff I’m not talented at.”

Ted turns his head, trying to look at Booster, so close his eyelashes tickle Booster’s cheek. “But that’s why we're practicing!” His voice is soft. “Like I was a fat little bookworm, do you think gymnastics came naturally to me when mom forced me to take lessons? Or, I don't know --” He gestures vaguely at the workbench. "You think I was born knowing how to wire electronics?"

Booster exhales through pursed lips. “That’s different. You’re smart. You -- You’ve got, like, twenty different university degrees. You’ve learned how to... learn stuff. A real pro at learning stuff. Not like me.”

Ted thinks for a moment, trailing a hand along Booster's arm. “You went to university too."

Booster snorts. "Oh sure, playing football for Gotham U and then six months of night classes taking history at Metro -- most of which turned out to be wrong. An academic triumph!"

Ted frowns at him. "What's bothering you?"

"I'm just saying." Booster tries to offer an innocent smile. "I'm bad at certain things. I know my limitations. If I was good with guns, don't you think I would have nabbed one from the museum?"

"You got the wrist blasters, though." Ted trails a finger along the trapezoid casing on the back of Booster's glove. "You know how to aim and hit stuff, at high speed, too. It's the same principle, different equipment. You're just a little... impatient."

There’s a soft snort from Booster. “I’ll show you impatient.” He swivels the chair around in one fluid motion so Ted is face to face with him. There's a mischievous look in Booster's eyes. Then he skips forward, finding a seat in Ted’s lap, the impact and weight so sudden a huff escapes Ted, as Booster's legs kicks gently in the air as he straddles him, trying to find his balance. Ted's hands reflexively wind around and find the underside of Booster’s thighs, supporting him in his lap.

Finally Booster grins, winding his arms around Ted's neck, and gives him a languid kiss.

“We’re gonna break the chair,” Ted tells him lamely once he's free to do so.

"Whatever," Booster murmurs with a smile, angling his head and giving Ted's lip a quick peck. “If it’s time for it to break, it’ll break.”

“Very philo--” Booster interrupts him with a kiss, and Ted smiles and angles his face back. “Philosophical of you. I just don’t --” Another kiss, Booster’s hands angling Ted’s face down again. “Excuse me if I don’t want to end up maimed because of --” Another interrupting kiss, and Ted laughs softly. “Booster.” He gives him a look. “Anyone can walk in.”

“They never do,” Booster murmurs, a hand lifted to toy with Ted’s shorn hair, pulling gently at it like he can will it to be longer again. “Everyone knows better than to interrupt you when you’ve locked yourself in your workshop."

Ted blinks. "They do?"

"The only time you ever made me fear for my life was that time I tried to ask you something while you were working on your blueprints for that -- that grabber thing for the Bug.” Booster nods towards the parked ship.

"I was doing some of the most complex calculations of my _career_ , and you interrupted me -- not once, but about _fifty_ times -- to, what was it?" Ted smirks, looking into Booster's blue eyes, but Booster only grins, not answering. “To discuss the best brand of popcorn kernels.”

Booster titters, his teeth white in the warm light of the workshop. “It’s a complex issue! I mean, not just for taste, but quantity, packaging, availability --” He taps his fingers where they rest on Ted's shoulder. "Being in charge of the snacks for Scott and Barda's movie nights weigh very heavily on my mind, you know. And you being a scientist, I figured you had an opinion and would--"

"Sure, my degree in popping popcorn, how could I forget?" Ted snorts. “I think we’re losing the thread here.” He feels the smooth fabric of Booster’s tights under his fingertips, trying not to notice how Booster’s weight is starting to make his legs cramp. “All I’m saying is if someone did walk in, or even knew how much you’ve been sneaking in here --” 

“So lock the door.”

“I can’t lock the door.” Ted looks at him. “That’d tell everyone I’m trying to hide something.”

Hiding in plain sight. Not a foreign concept to heroes with secret identities. Hiding from the press, the public, the majority of their colleagues... 

“We should get back to practicing,” Ted murmurs, bouncing his legs as well as he can with Booster weighing them down.

Booster glances at the target with a frown. “Mm, not yet.” He smiles sweetly at Ted for a moment, directing a low-lidded gaze at Ted's lips.

“I'm starting to get the feeling you don't want to,” Ted continues softly before Booster can distract him with another kiss. “But inspiration isn’t gonna suddenly strike if we just sit around, either.”

“We don’t have to just _sit around...”_ Booster murmurs, moving a hand down Ted's chest. 

“Booster, we're --” Ted protests, a soft little sigh escaping him as Booster leans forward and trails kisses down his neck, hooking a finger into the neckline of his T-shirt, pulling at it for better access. "Not here."

“I haven’t seen you since Tuesday,” Booster pouts, raising his head to meet Ted’s gaze. “You can’t expect me to concentrate when we haven’t had a moment together for five days.”

“Tell that to Grodd. You think I wanted to be stuck in a South African jungle all week?”

“I know, I just -- I hate when one of us gets held up somewhere." Booster sits back, the shifting weight making Ted's quads burn, but he doesn't want to push him off. "Like at least if I could have been there with you...” Booster’s voice trails off, and he pauses, frowning in thought, once again coming to that roadblock that trips him up so much these days. Ted knows that look so well.

He's thinking about Max’ offer to return to the League. About how they could be working together again, see each other every day, live across the hall from each other again, if Booster would drop out of the Conglomerate. It weighs heavily on his mind. On both their minds, and of course Ted would be overjoyed to have him back, live with him, eat breakfast and lunch and dinner with him. Not to mention how much easier it would to hide their sleepovers. Although Booster's flat _has_ been a wonderful hideaway...

So, sure, Booster's been running himself ragged as the leader of the Conglomerate, but Ted can see how he's grown into the role, too. Enjoying a kind of freedom and initiative he never had in the League. As much as Ted would like to pull him back into his own team, would it be fair to force Booster back into lower-rung status alongside him?

It's Booster's choice to make. Of course it is. But they both know it's a horribly tough call and Ted would rather eat tacks than tell Booster what to do in a conflict of conscience like this.

“Boos?” Ted murmurs gently, waiting for Booster to stir and blink, returning to him.

Booster looks at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was miles away.”

“As long as you always come back,” Ted tells him softly, and this time he’s the one who leans forward and kisses Booster. A transparent, cheap ploy to distract him from his dilemma, they both know it. But Booster is more than happy to get distracted again, and hums contentedly, curling around Ted.

“Enjoying yourselves, boys?” comes a voice from the entryway, and Booster gasps and stumbles back to his feet, only barely finding the time to put his legs under himself as Ted jolts from the chair.

“Oh! Oh God,” Ted wheezes, pressing a hand to his chest. “You -- Don't sneak up on people like that!”

Bea grins, her low pumps clicking against the concrete floor as she approaches, a full glass in each hand. “And you who told me you two would be hard at work, Beetle." She smiles at Booster. "Or maybe that's on me because I didn't ask what kind of hard work you'd be doing."

“Please,” Ted urges, coloring, while Booster giggles. "Bea, aren't you supposed to keep people out of here?”

“And I’m doing a great job, thanks for noticing,” she tells him brightly, depositing one of the glasses in Booster’s hands.

Ted looks at her, wanting to argue that she's people too, but he hesitates and waits for her to elaborate.

“You know you've been locked up in here since dinner last night? The gang were starting to worry had fried yourself on the circuitry or shrunk yourself to molecule size or something, you know --” She winks at him. “All alone in your workshop.”

Ted nods, beginning to understand. “So you volunteered to go check.”

“Now he gets it,” she tells him, handing him the other glass.

“So for your welfare check you brought us -- I mean, _me_ \--” He frowns at the glass in his hand, the translucent liquid contained in it. “Refreshments?”

“Mm!” Booster exclaims softly after having a sip and licking his lips. “Cocktails.”

“Palomas,” Bea specifies. “I mean sure, imagine our poor dedicated mechanic and inventor, working day and night, hunched over his workbench or engine, not eating, not drinking... Time for some emergency administration of liquids.”

“Cocktails,” Ted repeats flatly.

“Everything you need in there,” Bea shrugs, unperturbed. “Lime juice for vitamins and quick carbohydrates, salt for electrolytes --”

“And the tequila?” Booster asks, taking another sip. 

Bea finds Ted’s abandoned chair and sits down with a smile, crossing her legs and interlocking her fingers over her knee. “For fun.”

Ted takes a sip, noting that at least it has a moderate amount of tequila. And the mix tastes pretty great, too. “But from their perspective --" Ted gestures at the floor where presumably the rest of the League is. "Why would you bring me two glasses?”

“Like I’d ever mix someone a drink and not have one too,” she smirks, sitting back in her seat, whipping her voluminous green hair over the backrest. Booster gestures at the glass in his hand, offering it back, but she waves him off.

Booster offers Ted a contented smile. “I thought you said no one knew about me being here.”

“A majority of people don’t know,” Ted tells him, feeling a little guilty for leaving this detail out. “But I figured it was wise to have an ally. To, uh, avert discovery.”

Of course as a rule the others in the League wouldn't find it strange that Booster visits him. But they might question the frequency, and how they mostly keep to themselves when it happens, not to mention what they get up to when they get distracted, like tonight.

“Mm, that's smart. You think of everything," Booster tells him brightly, winding an arm around him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Immediately Ted freezes in his embrace, not moving except to fix his gaze on Bea, who's for the moment looking at the blinking lights of the target, still showing _BOOSTER GOLD - THE FASTEST GUN IN THE WEST._

Booster pauses, studying him with a frown, his arm still wound around him. “But she _knows,”_ he murmurs, not comprehending, into Ted’s ear.

Ted shrugs swiftly out of Booster's arms, stepping away. “Sure, but we -- I mean --” Ted whispers back, an electric restless charge shooting up his spine. “Doesn’t mean we have to, uh, put on a show.”

“Who’s putting on a show?” Booster hisses louder, frustration evident in his tone.

“Shh,” Ted urges him with a gesture, turning back to Bea who thankfully doesn't seem to have noticed their quiet conversation.

“Well that's festive.” Bea gestures at the target with the confetti strewn around. “What's it for? Other than to liven up the place."

“Target practice,” Booster tells her, giving Ted a look before walking over to Bea. “We figured we’re gonna get familiar with each other’s equipment, you know, and --”

There's a forceful snort and giggling from Bea, doubling over in the chair.

“Oh God.” Booster can’t help but laugh as well, an uncommon flush in his cheeks as he pulls his fingers through his hair. “I mean, our tools! _Work_ equipment,” he specifies, gesturing at Ted’s blue gun on the workbench. He waits good-naturedly for Bea to stop giggling. “In case of emergencies, you know? So we know how to use 'em.”

“Oh, cool!” There’s an excited spark in her eyes as she looks at Ted. “Have you flown yet?”

“Uh, no,” Ted replies quickly, glancing apprehensively at the ring on Booster’s middle finger. “Haven’t gotten around to that yet. We’ve been --”

 _“Distracted,”_ Bea offers with a smirk.

“Practicing with the gun,” Ted specifies pointedly.

“Oh, sure,” Bea says, smiling. “What do you call that thing again?”

“I call it _'my gun'._ ” Ted clears his throat demonstrably. “Or specifically, uh, it’s a handheld electronic flash and aeroblast unit, so a...” Ted squints an eye, mentally working through the anagram. “H.E.F.A.U, I guess.”

“Nah, that’s not what it says in _The Heroes’ Who’s Who,”_ Booster replies, the same mischievous glint in his eyes as in Bea’s. “That’s not the official name.”

"I made it so I think I get to decide its official name." Ted snorts, then looks back at Booster. “Wait, you’ve looked me up in the Who’s Who?”

Booster shrugs. “Your name comes just before mine. Anyway, _officially_ that thing is --”

“Look, I might have mentioned a silly working title in an impromptu interview many years ago,” Ted mutters. “It doesn’t mean anything’s _official_ or --”

“Oh, B.B. Gun!” Bea exclaims abruptly, looking proud of herself. “That’s what it’s called. The B.B. Gun.”

There’s a burst of laughter from Booster. “Like, that’s already a thing, Ted! With all the names you could have gone with, what made you --”

“Oh, wait, remind me,” Ted counters quickly with a sneer, gesturing towards Booster’s hands. “What are those things on the back of your gloves called again? I always forget.”

“That was Dirk’s idea.” Booster instinctively covers a wrist blaster with his other hand. “He wanted a cute on-brand name and you know there wasn’t exactly _a wealth_ of choices so --”

Bea looks from Booster to Ted and back again. “Wait, those have a name?”

“At least mine’s a _gun,”_ Ted argues emphatically. “Where did you get your idea? From a brochure about child inoculations?”

“You have an insect gimmick!” Booster sputters back. “There are literally a gajillion terms you can pick from and it’d fit, while I only have my name and a costume and --”

“Somebody tell me already,” Bea exclaims with a giggle.

Ted turns to her, his lips drawn back in a sneering smile. When he speaks, his voice is triumphant and low. _“Booster shots.”_ He takes his time, looking back at Booster, who squirms, pouting, under his gaze. “He calls them his Booster shots.”

“Dirk did,” Booster murmurs at the floor. “And they’re mine and I shoot with them, so it kinda fits. Not everyone immediately thinks about the vaccine thing, you know.”

Bea giggles happily, enjoying herself. “Is this the big thing with tech heroes?” She glances between them. “You all want to do the Batman thing _so_ bad, don’t you? Just _have to_ put your brand on everything you use.”

“Well, to be fair,” Ted mutters, a little deflated. “If Batman had started out today people would think calling something a _batarang_ would be silly too.” He massages his arm. “You just gotta make it a household name and people'll accept it.”

Bea sits back in her chair, exhaling with a smirk.

There’s a moment of quiet in the workshop.

“So you’re gonna show Beetle how to use those too?” She looks at Booster, who turns to meet her gaze. “Your... Booster shots?”

“I mean, I --” Booster glances at Ted. “I considered it. But they don’t really work without the suit, so they’re not on top of the list, no.”

“Well, I think I’ve been down here long enough for the others to think I’ve taken your status check, Ted.” Bea jumps to her feet. “I’ll tell them I found you obsessing over your hydraulics or programming or something, eyes bloodshot, skin gray and sallow --”

“Don’t overdo it, please,” Ted tells her softly. “Or they’ll expect me look like the crypt keeper when I come down for dinner.”

“That’s just the restorative power of my palomas.” She gestures at the half-full glasses on the workbench, then bounces on her feet and heads towards the door. “You guys have fun. And remember to put in some breaks to get distracted in.” She winks at them, making Ted flush. “See you next time you come around, Boost, officially or not.”

They stand for a moment in this fresh silence in the workshop. Then Ted wipes his face with a restless hand. "So you wanna get back to it? I can reset the target and then we'll --"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know I'm not supposed to touch you around Bea."

Is there a hint of accusation in there? Ted can't bring himself to look at him, instead he pauses, gaze still focused on the target. He clears his throat, and his voice sounds weird and thin when he speaks: “Look, I understand if you’re annoyed with me.”

“What? No, Ted I'm just --" Booster pauses. “I, I just thought it would be okay. I mean, she _knows.”_

Ted frowns, trying to figure out what he’d like to say. “Yeah.”

“I mean, you’re the one who told her and Tora.”

There's a sting in Ted's chest. He turns, meeting Booster's gaze. “Do you think I shouldn’t have?”

“No, of course I don't think --” Booster exclaims softly. “I mean, I’m glad they know. I’m glad you’re the one who decided to share it with them. You trust them, right?” 

Ted sees Booster’s questioning gaze, and he knows he’s meant to explain everything, show Booster what he feels. But he doesn’t know where to begin, so all he says is “I guess.”

“Good,” Booster tells him softly. “Good. Because I trust them too. And they’re --” Booster gestures from Ted to himself. “They’re like this. Like us. They’re together too, and they’re careful about who knows, too. So of _all_ the people I thought we could act, you know, honestly around...”

Ted makes a face. Like keeping a pace apart and not making out in front of people is acting _dishonestly._

“-- I figured they’d be it. You know?”

“What am I supposed to say? I mean --” Ted winces, already feeling like he’s starting out wrong. “I get it, it's just -- The thing with Praxis and everything still sets me on edge, I guess. And we've managed to be careful so far, nobody’s ever seen us. As far as we know. They’ve never seen us do anything that can’t be explained as...” Ted makes a dismissive gesture. “Best buds goofing off.”

“When Bea walked in on us just now, I mean --” Booster smirks, confused. “Somebody’s already seen us, Ted.”

“So maybe that’s why I’m freaking out!” Ted snaps back, surprised at his own voice.

There’s a moment of silence. Ted massages the bridge of his nose, because they're back to this. Ted glowing with shame and embarrassment and utterly incapable of expressing it or figuring out why.

"Okay, but _we trust her,"_ Booster reminds him softly, frustration edging his voice. "But you want to be careful around everyone. Got it. I'm just saying, you really think that Beatriz da Costa, of all people, has never guessed that we’ve done more than hold hands?”

There's a flush of heat in Ted's chest. "Sure, so we might as well fuck in front of her, is what you're saying?"

“Stop being such a jerkwad!” Booster exclaims, throwing up his hands in frustration. “I’ve never said anything like that!”

“No, but that’s your point.” Ted makes a face. “She knows that we kiss, so we should show her we kiss. She knows that we have sex, so --”

“Normal people kiss in front of other people all the time!”

“Well, we’re not normal!” 

There's a pause. Booster stares at him, eyes wide.

“That’s not what I meant,” Ted quickly adds in a lower voice. “All I mean is... That-- I mean, other people --”

“Straight people,” Booster mutters.

“Other people would not get front page headlines if the wrong people saw them kiss.” He holds up a palm before Booster can say anything. “I’m not saying it’s right, it’s just a fact we have to live with it. Protect ourselves from.”

“But Bea isn’t the wrong people, that’s my point!” Booster sighs, massaging his neck.

“Sure she isn’t the wrong people, but why not just..." Ted pauses, looking for a way to explain. "Make a habit of _not_ doing things where other people can see? Why not take precautions and act like all people might be wrong people?”

“That’s how you want to go through life? Not even trusting the people you --" Booster hesitates, trying to phrase it. "Trust?”

“I just want us to be careful."

There’s a pause.

Booster exhales, crossing his arms. "Sure. Okay."

It was Booster who was gonna bear the brunt of Praxis' statements. It was him who was in immediate danger of losing his job, his entire career, from one person deciding to tell one reporter. And of course, Ted told Booster he'd bear it with him, and he still will, if it comes to that.

But it didn't come to that this time. A miracle delivered to them by Maxwell Lord of all people, from what Booster's told him. A miracle they'll never experience again, so is it strange that Ted is not keen to stand on the verge of a catastrophe like that again straight away? Is it so irrational to want to be twice as careful as they've been before? 

Even if it's Bea.

Ted makes a face at himself, unconvinced by his own rationale. "Or maybe --" he begins, haltingly."I don't know."

Booster regards him silently.

"Apart from that, I guess I --" He clears his throat, not meeting Booster's gaze. "I guess I wasn't prepared for anyone to really see me, uh --" _Be anything other than 100% straight. Kiss a guy. Show affection and desire for another man._ "With you."

Booster smirks. "She seemed to get a kick out of it."

A sharp chuckle escapes Ted. "That doesn't make it better."

"You've seen her and Tora kiss," Booster tells him. "You're not gonna tell other people about that, are you?"

"Of course not."

Booster gestures vaguely to prove his point. "So they trust us. Is it really so hard to trust them back?"

Ted exhales slowly, folding his arms. Sure. Fine. So maybe it isn't about Bea. Maybe it's about himself. As usual. Always about him, running into walls he put up himself. Again and again and again. It's not any less frustrating the ten thousandth time that happens.

"It took you by surprise, you weren't prepared," Booster murmurs, trailing his thumb along Ted's wrist. "I get it." It almost annoys Ted how quick Booster can switch to acting reassuring and understanding sometimes, how quickly he can cut his losses, when Ted is acting a lot less forgiving, a lot more bristly.

Ever since they got together after their falling out, they don't even fight the same anymore. Both of them a little gentler, more eager to smooth things over and find common ground. Even now, when Ted has a growing sense of being in the wrong. That Booster's has had the better arguments all along.

Ted wipes his face, tired. "No, you're right. I'm sorry." He unfolds his arms, accepting Booster's hand in his. "I'm just saying, it's hard to -- to get used to, uh, the thought of people -- _Any_ people --"

Booster leans forward, giving him a quick kiss. "I get it. If it makes you uncomfortable around Bea and Tora I'll be more careful." Another kiss, Booster's lips tensed in a smile against Ted's. "But just... think about it, okay?"

Ted smirks. Yeah, point taken. A fight less about Ted's reaction than his piss-poor rationale for reacting that way. He looks at Booster's blue, soft eyes, and exhales slowly through his nose. "I love you, you know that?"

Booster's face brightens with a broad smile. "I appreciate being reminded." He lifts his other hand to cup Ted's face. "I love you too."

A gentle, slow, enveloping kiss, melting together. It takes a moment for Ted to allow his mind to empty completely, jettisoning every thought, every anxiety, and only being aware of his presence in Booster's arms, the soft tickling of Booster's breath against his cheek, how well their bodies seem to fit together.

Seconds or maybe centuries pass. It's that good of a kiss. As always.

Then Booster giggles softly. "I keep trying to forget why we're here, but I can't." He blinks at Ted with smile. "We should probably get back to it, right?"

Ted fights his urge to say no, let's stay like this or, hell, sneak into Ted's room downstairs. “Uh, okay, yeah,” he mutters, a little surprised at the change in Booster. “You want to do more target practice? A few more rounds with the flash setting before we move on to the air blast?”

“Ugh, let's put that on hold for a minute and switch places, okay?” Booster snorts, working his embossed ring off his finger. “Let me be the teacher now.” He holds out his open hand towards Ted, his solid, ubiquitous ring lying in his palm. Gold against the gold of his glove.

“Just like that?” Ted swallows, suddenly apprehensive. “You just want me to put it on? No theory first?”

There’s a soft chuckle from Booster. “What do you expect? It’s not like getting your driver’s license. There are no traffic rules in the air, you know.” He squints an eye in thought. “Or, I mean, there are for planes and things. But when you’re flying solo the only traffic rule is pretty much _‘Don’t crash into the planes’_.”

Ted regards the ring in Booster’s palm, his mouth feeling a little dry. “No, but -- You have to tell me what to expect when I put it on, Boos.” The last thing he wants is to thread it onto a finger and shoot up in the air, crashing against the ceiling, breaking something, most likely something inside himself.

“I didn’t have any lessons, you know,” Booster tells him pointedly, proffering his hand forward again. “You’re already getting a softer start at this than me.”

“I gave you an introductory lesson with mine,” Ted argues, gently pushing Booster's hand away. “And that was just for flashing a bright light. Just tell me how it’s meant to be used.”

“You put it on and you fly, that’s how it’s used.”

“Booster!” Ted laughs, a tinge of unfamiliar panic in his voice. He was a little nervous about this, sure, but nothing in this introduction to it is calming his nerves. “Like, okay, does it start working when I hold it, or does it have to be on a finger?”

“No, it only works when you put it on. I don’t know if you can put it on a toe or something if you don’t have any fingers, but you’re not gonna do anything just holding it. Come on already.”

Ted exhales slowly and gingerly picks it up with his fingertips. It feels lighter than you’d expect from a metal ring of its size, and he wonders if that’s the technology having an effect on the ring itself.

“Great job, buddy,” Booster teases. “Now put it on.”

“When you got it, didn’t you worry you might just take off and not be able to stop?” Ted doesn’t move his gaze from the ring in his palm, like it might jump onto one of his fingers of its own volition if he doesn’t keep an eye on it. “Like, straight up and out of the atmosphere until you suffocate in the vacuum of space?”

“It’s harder to fly than _not_ fly with it on,” Booster smirks, seemingly a little confused by Ted's reaction. “It actually took me a while to figure out how to make it work at all. And we’re indoors anyway.”

“So what’s the trick? What do I do?”

“Well, it’s hard to explain. Just put it on and I’ll make you try some things.”

“I should have padded the roof in here,” Ted mutters, staring up at the workshop ceiling high above them. “Padded _everything,_ just in case.”

“You want to try this outside?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’ll be fine,” Booster murmurs with a smile. “If it’s more than you can handle, you just take it off.”

“It’s like twenty-five feet under the roof in here,” Ted mutters. “And a concrete floor. Not to mention a ton of tools and metal and sharp things I don’t want to fall onto.”

“So I catch you.”

God, Ted can't believe he's doing this in a T-shirt and sweatpants. He should have put on protective gear, every inch of him padded and with a kevlar outing. He could build it himself, just give him a couple of days.

Booster laughs. “Ted. For God’s sake. Just put it on.”

Ted sighs, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his neck from side to side, just like he’d do before testing one of his own inventions. He’s done that countless times, not always with successful outcomes. He’s flown higher, fallen harder, been ragdolled around worse by his own equipment than by supervillains out to grind him into dust. Accepted some long, painful processes in the name of science, with the goal of stress testing and troubleshooting and becoming adept at his own equipment. This shouldn't be any different.

Except he’s working blind with a piece of complex technology Booster stole from the future. A piece of technology maybe even Booster only has the most basic mastery of. Who knows what other uses this ring was made for? What it might do on someone else's finger?

He swallows thickly, pushing it resolutely down on the ring finger of his left hand quickly so he can’t think too hard about it, and he holds his breath.

_Here we go._

_Or..._

Still standing on the dusty concrete floor of his workshop. He doesn't feel the least bit lighter.

He exhales slowly, barely daring to move in case it might activate the ring.

Booster grins. “See? I told you.”

“Ah. Okay.” Ted moves a little, starting to believe him. He holds up his hand, regarding the ring. It's a little too large for him, and he's mindful of squeezing his fingers together so it won't slide off. Strange, almost, to see it there on his own hand when he’s so used to seeing it on Booster. Like it’s part of him, part of his costume. Or in a way, it is. “Good. Uh, what do I do now?”

“Well, you -- You decide to fly.”

Ted looks up at Booster with an expression that makes Booster burst into giggles.

“I mean it,” Booster grins. “That’s what I do. When I want to fly, I fly.” He rubs his neck, almost self-conscious. “You know sometimes I just trip over my feet out of nowhere when I'm not in costume? It's because I forget I don't have the ring on, so I'm like ‘hey I’m gonna fly over there’ and then I fall on my face because I can't.”

“That's what that is?" Ted grins. "So you're telling me you're not just the clumsiest person in the universe?"

"Well, that too,” Booster giggles. "But it's that simple, you know. The ring knows when you want to fly."

Ted makes a face and exhales, staring down at his feet. “Uh, okay. I’m gonna... decide to fly, I guess.” He looks down at his sneakers, the rubber soles flush to the concrete. 

_I want to fly._

Or at least hover, at first. He wants his feet to leave the ground. Now. Fly. Say ‘fuck you’ to gravity. Glide impossibly upwards, like he’s seen Booster do a thousand times.

Ted looks up, not at the ceiling but the air a feet above him, right where he wants to be. Right where his body will be in a moment.

_Now. I’m gonna fly... now!_

“I told you.” Booster, still taller than Ted, still placed exactly where he was in relation to Ted moments before, smiles at him. “It’s a little tricky to figure out.”

“Wait, I’m not done.” Ted gestures him away.

So he’s caught up in the science of it, the reality of it. That's probably what's putting a brake on things.

Obviously it’s hard to convince himself he can just ignore the rules of gravity because of a ring his buddy from the future brought with him. If he reminds himself he’s wearing a contraption wired to his brainwaves, that the particular electrical resonance of his intention can set it off, giving him upward drive, move the mass of his body, maybe that’ll make it easier.

Sure. There are a ton of natural forces that can make something move upward without frantically battling against gravity like a frantic bird beating its wings or even the propulsion engine of the Bug. There are insects that can float for miles without the beating of wings, just relying on the upward friction of the air, the almost imperceptible currents all around. Maybe that’s all Booster’s ring does, nulling out the density of his body somehow, making him light as a feather. A feather commanded by brainwaves, a feather who can decide exactly where it wants to go.

_I'm a feather. I want to fly._

Nothing.

Booster is taller than him, too,Ted reminds himself. With an impressive set of muscles. If the ring can work its force on him, it will work for Ted. Booster can even carry him, the ring is powerful enough for their combined weight, it’s already been proven that it can handle Ted’s bulk.

_This piece of technology (that's all it is, it works, I've seen it work) will make me fly. It will make me fly right... now!_

Ted looks down again, his shoes squarely planted on the ground. He sighs, defeated, turning to Booster. “You said there were several things we could try?”

“Uh huh,” Booster nods eagerly. “I figured maybe that one was more... Proficient level. Like I’m so used to flying like that, it’s more an automatic thing for me.”

“Okay, sure, what’s another technique?”

“Fall off a cliff.”

Ted gives Booster look.

“Yep,” Booster shrugs. “When I was just starting out, you know, I took a wallop to the head from Blackguard so I could barely stand on my feet, much less fly.” He presses a thumb to his temple to indicate where the force had landed. “Like I think I got kind of a concussion. I tried so hard to fly away from him and I just couldn’t anymore. Couldn’t figure it out.”

Ted exhales with gentle concern, regarding Booster's poor temple, imagining the bruise. _'Kind of a concussion'._ Probably didn't even go to a doctor afterwards. “So you jumped off a cliff.”

“Well, more like got _thrown_ off a cliff,” Booster smirks. “Or actually the ninth floor of a building. And that’s how I learned that _really_ believing you’re gonna be a smear on the asphalt in a moment helps you figure out how to fly. Really quickly, too.”

“Too bad we’re only on the fifth floor here,” Ted remarks sardonically. “But I’m sure I’d fear for my life. You wanna throw me off, or should I ask someone else?”

Booster giggles, stooping forward to give him a quick kiss. “No.”

“Okay, good,” Ted smirks. “Next technique?”

“So, um, okay. This one's a bit more technical.” Booster takes a step back. “You know that muscle you have in here?” Booster pushes his fingertips against the top of his own stomach, at the center right below his ribs.

“Abs.”

“Not the abs.” Booster pushes his fingertips harder into the top of his stomach like that’ll help him make his point. “You know. Deeper.”

“Intestines?”

“No!” Booster exhales in gentle frustration, bracing a hand against Ted back and emphatically prodding his fingertips of his other hand into the same area below Ted’s chest. _“That_ muscle! You know. Helps you breathe and sing.”

“Ow,” Ted murmurs softly, coaxing Booster’s hand away. “The diaphragm?”

“Yeah, the diaphragm!” Booster bounces on his feet, triumphant. “You sort of, you... You tense your diaphragm -- _while_ you think about flying.”

“Booster, I’ve been using my diaphragm all this time,” Ted sighs. “I’ve been breathing and speaking to you while I’ve had the ring on, haven’t I? I already know that isn't it. Give me another one.”

“No, you just --” Booster moves a hand towards Ted’s stomach again, and Ted pushes it away because his abs are still aching from Booster's earlier prodding. “You _really_ squeeze it, and you decide to fly.”

“Okay, fine, look.” Ted holds Booster’s gaze defiantly, holding his breath for a moment, tensing his stomach muscles as hard as he can. _I want to fly._ There. He exhales, gesturing to his feet, still firmly planted on the floor. “See?”

“You weren’t doing it right.” Booster frowns. “You gotta --”

“You know, maybe the ring doesn’t work for other people, have you thought about that?” Ted asks him gently. “Maybe it got encoded to you or something when you took it.”

“No, that’s not --” Booster sighs, stepping back. “Michelle used it once, you know.”

“Yeah, sure, but --” Ted slows down, treading carefully on the subject of Booster’s sister. “You two practically have the same genetic signature, Boos. You don’t think that might make a difference?”

“Just try again. For real this time. Use your diaphragm.”

“I have been trying!” Ted exclaims softly. “Maybe if you had a nice little user manual for this ring that would be alright, but I’m starting to think I can’t use it like you use it. Maybe it’s impossible for me to make it work.” Like the scarab. Like the powers he’s always wished he had. There are things he will never be able to crack, to figure out, and he has learned to accept that fact.

“Now who’s not handling not being great at something right away?” Booster teases. “I’ve seen you spend a week cursing and fretting until you make one of your inventions work.”

“Yeah, well, I always figure out what part doesn’t work and I know I can fix it eventually." He holds up his hand, palm towards himself so Booster can see the ring. "I can’t troubleshoot a gizmo I don’t know how works. And maybe _I_ am the part that’s stopping it from working.”

“One more try,” Booster tells him softly. “One more go at that last technique, and then we drink the rest of Bea’s tequila cocktails.”

Ted sighs, regarding him, then rolls his eyes. “Okay, sure.”

“Close your eyes.”

Ted does so. The ring on his finger feels heavier than it did before, like it’s actively pulling him down to the earth. Maybe it isn’t a _flight_ ring at all, maybe it has different effects for different people. It helps Booster, and Michelle, fly because they’re the kind of people who are meant to fly. Not him.

He feels Booster gently take hold of his hand, his left one with the ring on, and press the palm against the parting of Ted’s ribs right above his stomach, right above his gut. Then Booster lets go. 

Right. Diaphragm. Standing like this Ted's suddenly reminded of the weeks before his bar mitzvah. His tutor telling him for the hundredth time not to shyly mumble as he reads the Torah. Pressing Ted’s hand against his diaphragm just like that, thundering at him, “Louder! _Project,_ Theodore! You want to become a man while you whisper?”

He stands there, eyes closed, drawing a deep breath, trying to figure out if he can feel the muscle move or not. Too many layers of fat in the way.

 _Okay. Fly. I’m gonna fly. I_ wanna _fly._

Deep breath.

He pauses and listen, eyes still closed, and while listening he realizes he can only hear his own breathing, not Booster's like he did before.

Ted opens his eyes, and immediately the workshop looks... _weird._ Everything where it should be but looking different. He glances down, and his feet aren’t there. There’s the floor, the concrete floor, but his feet are behind him somewhere.

He makes a squeak of realization, flailing his arms and legs for a moment, mostly trying to right himself because his body is slowly tilting forward, but it doesn’t feel like being in water or anything like he'd imagined, it feels like nothing at all, nothing to push against, and it feels so _wrong._

“No, no, you’re doing fine, you’re fine, you’re fine,” Booster coos at him with a grin, absurdly below him, maybe three feet.

“How do I stop it?” Ted whispers, dimly aware of the panic in his voice. He jerks his arms forward, like a reversed backstroke, but it doesn’t do anything, doesn’t move his body at all. When he stops moving he shoots a little bit forward in the air before coming to a stop, and he gasps loudly. “I want to stop. I don’t know what to do.” He’s slowly tilting forward but his head, his neck, his torso don’t feel heavier like they should. His body doesn’t feel right, his body doesn’t have the weight it should. It feels wrong. “Booster!”

“Relax, Teddy. Slow down. Don’t try to move yet.” He’s smiling so brightly, like Ted isn’t flailing in terror in the air above him, breaking every law of nature. “I know it feels super weird but if you calm down you’ll figure it out.”

“For fuck's sake, I can’t --” Ted gasps with panic, kicking his legs. He’s lying -- floating -- parallel to the floor now but he can’t right himself for the life of him. “I want -- Can I take it off? Please just -- Ah, fuck,” he squeaks helplessly. _“Help.”_

Booster raises his arm, hand reaching towards him. “Here.”

Ted first tries to scramble towards it, swim forward, move his entire self towards the safety of Booster’s open hand, but he eventually realizes it’s close enough he can just reach out and grab hold of it. He does so, tightly, with both hands.

“It’s okay, I got you. You’re just disoriented. It’s weird the first time.”

Ted stares at their hands. His own pale skin almost obscuring the gold of Booster’s glove. At least he’s not falling forwards anymore. “Okay. Good. Just pull me down.”

“No, you just -- Look at where the floor is and fly down to it.”

“Booster, if I could don’t you think I would have done that already?” Ted hisses, staring at Booster’s gloved hand in his.

“You figured out how to fly when you made an effort. I want you to figure out how to land.”

“Okay. I will. Later.” Ted pants, frowning. “Later when I’m aware of how _fucking wrong_ this feels and I’m prepared for it but right now I can’t fucking close my eyes and concentrate so please just pull me down. Please.”

“No, you see, I --” There’s gentle hesitation in Booster’s voice. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“You’ve got my hand. Please just try. Booster. Get me down.”

“Teddy.” Booster exhales below him. “It’s kind of the other way around right now.”

“What?” Ted moves his wide-eyed gaze from their hands to the area below him. Booster looking up at him with encouraging blue eyes, and further down... Booster’s feet dangling several feet off the floor. Ted’s managed to pull him into the air with him.

“Oh fuck!” Ted whimpers, holding on for dear life, flailing his legs behind him. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“It’s okay, it’s -- Ow. Ted. Relax. Don’t move, you’re -- ah, _ow_ !-- flinging me around here.”

Ted breathes through clenched teeth willing himself to stop, his body frozen in the air. Why is he still flying? He doesn’t want to fly. He doesn’t want to fly anymore. He wants to stop.

It doesn't feel like this when Booster's carrying him, when it's Booster flying. He still feels his weight in Booster's arms, his limbs and head and everything have their proper weight. But not now. He never knew he'd miss the feeling of weight in his body.

Below him Booster makes a soft grunt of effort, or maybe pain.

“Booster, I’m sorry!" Ted whimpers, feeling helpless. He should let go of Booster's hand but he can't. How high are they right now? Is it even safe to drop Booster? He'd look down and see but he can't bring himself to do it. "Ohh. God. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Good. Good boy,” Booster coos, flailing for a moment to wrap his free hand around his own forearm, trying to support himself as he’s dangling from one hand. “Ted. I want you to look at the floor, okay? Look at the floor and think about how you --” The rest of his sentence ends in a high-pitched yelp as they both fall like bricks towards the concrete. Booster is of course the first to land, hard, on his feet, and he groans from the impact moments before Ted comes crashing on top of him, Ted’s forehead slamming into his clavicle, Ted’s foot catching the metal tool trolley, knocking it over. The crash is deafening, reverberating under the concrete roof.

Then they they lie sprawling, squirming on the floor, half covered with wrenches and clamps and screws from the overturned trolley.

“Ohh,” Booster groans on his back, rubbing his shoulder.

Ted lies sprawling on his front, his forehead pounding where he hit it, when he remembers himself and swipes frantically at his own hand, pulling the ring off with such force it rolls clattering along the floor. “Oh. God. Booster!” he breathes, raising his head. "Fuck. Are you okay? Boos, are you okay?”

Booster sucks in air, rolling his shoulder forward with a wince, then gingerly raising his arm, making the layer of screws and nuts on his chest fall to the floor with a flurry of thin metallic tinkling sounds. “Ah. Yeah, I think so. Doesn’t -- Ah. Doesn’t feel broken or anything.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Booster turns his head, smiling with barely a grimace. “I’m okay. Are you?”

“I --” Ted takes a moment taking stock of his limbs, his head, his torso. His head hurts, his shin is in agony, but everything moves alright. “Yeah. As far as I can tell, everything’s attached where it’s supposed to.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” A chuckle escapes Booster as he drops his head, lying flat on the floor and staring up at the ceiling. “As first attempts go, I think it went pretty well, don't you?”

Ted starts giggling, from relief, from pain, from sheer adrenaline coursing through his veins. “First and only attempt!”

“Teddy --” Booster begins, giggling too.

“No, Booster. _Booster."_ Ted rolls over on his back, trying to breathe from giggling, reaching a hand out to touch Booster's poor wrist, probably aching from supporting his entire weight moments before. "You stick to the flying, okay? That’s entirely your department.”

“Christ, Ted, are you okay?”

Ted lifts his head off the floor, locating the entrance to the workshop. Seeing the crowd of onlookers in various degrees of concern and confusion. Bea and Tora, of course. And J’onn, and Guy, and Kilowog. The gang's all here.

J’onn’s prominent brow seems to lower even more in confusion. _“Booster?”_

“Hi,” Booster squeaks, waving a limp hand from the floor, then letting it drop onto a pile of tools. “I just came in. How’s everybody doing?” He lifts his head, beaming at them, waiting for an answer. When no one does, he shrugs. “We're okay. S'just just a little... experimenting, um, with some --” He glances at Ted, beaming. “What’s the terminology here? Ah.” He swivels his head towards the group. “Unexpected results.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I'll sit on the bus and ponder how stuff like, say, a magic ring that makes you fly would work. Also I might be establishing some itty bitty rules about their equipment which might be elegantly used in future chapters, probably.
> 
> And yeah okay I still enjoy writing bickering, especially when I get to resolve it right away and not make them into emotionally exhausting crises.
> 
>  **[Song:](https://open.spotify.com/user/tilly_stratford/playlist/4SqomvmhyncWPEAobYUZ88?si=DNXWufsLSs29KqRywW2U9A)**  
>  Take your time (do it right) - The S.O.S Band


End file.
